The Marrying of Chani Kaufman (29 page)

If she moved out, she could find a small flat nearby, in Swiss Cottage or West Hampstead. She could still see her children every day. Michal would finish school this year and begin sem at Gateshead or in Jerusalem next September. She was on the cusp of adulthood. Avromi would survive. He was a balanced young man and although he was suffering, he would start afresh at in Jerusalem in January. Hopefully he would learn and grow from his mistakes, and at least he would still be at home for a while to keep an eye on Moishe until they had all adjusted to the situation. They could visit her whenever they wanted, stay the night or just have dinner with her. For that, she would need to keep a kosher kitchen. Her mind raced with possibilities, faltering at complications. Fine, she could keep kosher at home – it was no real hardship.

What about Chaim? What would he be doing today? She did not have the strength to talk to him again just yet. With a jolt, the Rebbetzin realised that he would be officiating at Chani's wedding and she had promised Chani that she would be there. The Rebbetzin groaned. Shul was the last place she wanted to be. But a promise was a promise.

Then she had an idea. The ceremony was at two. She had plenty of time.

November 2008 – London

The doors of the lift closed with a discreet rumble. Chani and Baruch stood in silence as the machine soared to the sixth floor. Baruch allowed Chani to exit first. The corridor was empty and hushed. Chani's dress rustled over the plush carpet, which was emblazoned with the same pattern that had writhed before Baruch's eyes hours earlier. Wall lights cast a dim glow emphasising the black swirls, creating the illusion of the pattern rising to meet them.

Chani followed half a step behind her husband. Baruch clutched the key card and led the way. They passed room after room, each door a full-length mirror reflecting them in its dark glass depths, giving Chani the sensation of being accompanied by the ghosts of the previous brides and grooms to have walked the corridor before them. How had they fared? Chani was wide-awake, her previous exhaustion forgotten. Her stomach gurgled loudly but Baruch did not seem to notice. She imagined he was equally nervous; he had barely spoken or looked at her since they had taken leave of their parents.

The room was magnificent. Palatial in size, its décor was heavy and traditional. Floor length brocaded curtains were held back by twisted gold ropes ending in fringed tassels. A chandelier dangled from an ornate ceiling rose. A mahogany dressing table stood in the window bay. Her every-day wig stood on its stand in front of a framed looking glass, a faceless woman watching them closely. A large basket of kosher treats sat on the writing bureau to the right. Their suitcases had been stored beneath.

In the centre of the room stood a huge four-poster bed. Their nightwear had been laid out on it. She approached the bed and gingerly sat down, the thick mattress barely denting under her weight. Baruch copied her causing the bed to sag and Chani to lean towards him. They giggled and glanced shyly at each other and looked away.

‘Big, isn't it?' said Baruch.

‘Very,' agreed Chani.

‘Might get lost in it. Should have brought a map.'

Chani was silent. Baruch reddened as his joke flopped. ‘Are you tired?'

She looked up briefly at him. ‘No, not all. I don't believe I'll sleep at all tonight.'

‘Me neither.' He reached for her hand and so they sat for a few moments until the silence became unbearable and Chani broke away to pretend to examine the gift basket.

‘Are you hungry?' she asked.

‘No, couldn't eat another thing. Are you?'

She shook her head. ‘Definitely not.'

The sweat had congealed into cold patches under his arms and his mouth felt full of sand. He needed a wash but what was the correct protocol in front of one's newly acquired wife?

‘I guess we should get ready for bed.'

Chani did not move. She stared at the gaudy pink bow stuck to the cellophane of the basket.

‘Would you prefer to use the bathroom first?'

She nodded. ‘Can you help unbutton my dress at the back?'

‘I'll do my best.'

She turned her back as he towered over her. The buttons were small and fiddly but he bent to his task. They gave way and slowly Chani's slim pale back was revealed to him. He wanted to stroke the length of her spine but as soon as he was done, she grabbed her nightdress and fled to the bathroom. The door locked and he was left waiting.

From within came the whir and hiss of the shower. He stood up and wandered around the room, opening drawers and examining their contents. Writing paper, envelopes and menus – nothing very interesting. He flicked the switch on the electric kettle just to see it glow red. Then he peered at himself in the mirror, breathed on it and grimaced as he caught a whiff of the stale odour. He had to brush his teeth. Baruch HaShem he had not tried to kiss her yet. But how was he supposed to kiss her? Does one move one's lips against the other person's? Or do they remain stationary, merely pressed up close? And what does one do with one's tongue? He had seen kissing on television. The men and women had devoured one another. He had thought it had looked thoroughly unpleasant. But perhaps that was what was meant to be done? Maybe Chani would like it?

The lock slid in the bathroom door and it slowly swung open. Chani emerged through the steam, a large fluffy hotel dressing gown dwarfing her frame. Her hair was wet, her feet were bare and she clutched her wig in both hands. She looked very young and vulnerable.

‘Um – I just need my toothbrush and toothpaste. I'll be done in a couple of minutes.'

‘Sure. Take your time.'

She fumbled with the zips on her suitcase, stuffed in her wedding wig and pulled out her wash-bag. Then she flitted back inside, locking the door once more. Baruch paced the bedroom, hands behind his back.

In the humid privacy of the bathroom, Chani scrambled into her bright pink bra and knickers. She had hidden them in her wash-bag, wrapped up in her old shower-cap. The material shone brighter than ever and seemed utterly incongruous against the plain white cotton of her nightdress. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to have bought the set after all. Still, she was enjoying the slither of satin against skin. She fastened the small buttons of the nightgown up to her collarbone and pulled the sleeves over her wrists. Her secret concealed, she brushed her teeth, whispered a quick prayer and opened the door to find Baruch styling his hair in the mirror. He spun round.

‘Your turn,' she said.

‘Thanks,' he muttered, grabbed his pyjamas and wash-kit and retired to the sanctuary of the bathroom.

What does a bride do now?

She had hung her dress on the wardrobe door and was curled up in the armchair, feet tucked beneath her. She was cold. The room was large and draughty. Baruch was taking his time. Her siddur had been placed on the dressing table for her by her mother but praying was the last thing she felt like doing. On the coffee table lay the remote for the television. She would just switch it on for a second. She pressed the large red button and pointed it at the screen. The screen flashed and cleared to reveal a couple writhing in a passionate embrace on a beach. His hand crept up her thigh and she arched her back against him, moaning softly. He covered her neck with kisses and her hands gripped his muscular back.

Chani was glued to the screen when Baruch stepped out of the bathroom. He cleared his throat and in a panic she reached for the remote, knocking it flying. The couple continued to moan and groan as she scrabbled for the device under the sofa. She stood up to find Baruch entranced by the display of passion enacted before him. Immediately he turned away, blushing furiously. Hurriedly she switched off the machine and silenced the couple.

‘I only meant to see what's on,' she rattled. ‘I hadn't thought it would be that sort of thing – '

‘Yes, most inconvenient,' said Baruch.

‘So,' said Chani. ‘What shall we do now?'

 

Her dress trembled a little on its hanger. In the thick darkness it appeared almost luminous. The only other point of light came from the television opposite, an unblinking red eye in the gloom. They lay in the enormous bed separated by a vast expanse of Egyptian cotton, each cleaving to their side of the bed. Neither stirred and they remained frozen, staring at the canopy above them.

Chani's feet were numb with cold but she dared not move them. She waited for Baruch to make the first overture. But her husband continued to lie inert and silent. She sensed his breathing in the gentle rise and fall of the covers.

Baruch contemplated his situation. He must penetrate the girl lying next to him but his member had curled up in fright, rendering the act impossible. All the manuals he had consulted in the library had not prepared him for this. He longed to sleep off the nightmare but he knew he must perform his duty. The longer he lay there motionless, the harder it was to begin proceedings. His limbs felt pinioned to the mattress. The girl was waiting.

Chani grew restless. She wanted it over and done with. She had waited and worried for an eternity only for Baruch to suffer stage fright. She knew he wanted her. She had seen the way he had stared at her when he had thought her unaware. It was fear that had paralysed him, the same fear that gnawed at her. Something had to be done. She reached out a hand towards the large, silent mound to her left. He was still too far away. She wiggled over until she was within reach.

An icy little hand stroked his shoulder. This was not how it was meant to be. But in his cowardice he was grateful that she had made the first move. The small hand continued to caress. He could feel light feathery movements through his pyjamas. She was touching him! It was really happening. Emboldened, he turned towards her and reached over. He was met with more material but there was something undeniably soft and pliant beneath. Her breast? His penis twitched. No. It was merely her upper arm. Gingerly he started to explore. Her hand had begun to rove the whole length of his arm and friction had made it warm. He shifted nearer to her and to his joy she did the same. Their arms continued to writhe like tentacles but their bodies remained stubbornly apart.

Chani shuffled closer. He could just make out her eyes in contrast to the whiteness of her pillow. He gazed at her face, enjoying the warmth emanating from her body still inches away. Suddenly a cold, clammy foot began to prod his upper shin, rubbing along his pyjama leg. Taking this as an invitation, he pressed up against her and pulled her in close. Her heartbeat raced through the thinness of her nightie. She leant over him. Damp locks of hair brushed his face. Then she kissed him, soft lips nudging his own. His arms locked around her and his hands began to explore the length of her body.

They pressed and squirmed against each other. The air grew hot and moist beneath the duvet but they remained fully clothed. Baruch ached to rummage beneath her gown but Chani was almost on top of him and he could not reach to pull it up. A moment later, her hands crept beneath his pyjama top and furtively stroked his chest. He thought his heart would burst with joy.

She was pleased with her findings. Baruch was not hairy in the slightest. His skin was seal-smooth save for the odd wisp just above his sternum. Beneath, ribs and muscles flexed and she enjoyed the energy in them. His body was a thrilling new land to her.

A large pair of hands grasped her bottom. She froze. This was happening more quickly than she would have liked. She was not ready to remove her gown. She wriggled free but Baruch took the opportunity to manoeuvre himself alongside her and now his long fingers were rubbing urgently along the front of her gown. Soon they plucked at the placquard of buttons and each one surrendered with a little pop. He kissed her face clumsily like an exuberant dog. She wanted to wipe her chin and cheeks but did not want to offend him. She placed a placatory hand against him pushing him away.

Startled he pulled back. ‘Are you ok? Have I done something wrong?' he whispered.

‘No, not all. A little less kissing that's all. Please.'

‘I'm sorry – I have no idea how to kiss – '

‘Neither have I. But let's try a little more slowly and gently.'

‘Ok,' he said. He was useless, as he had known he would be.

They lay separately, breathing hard. He felt himself deflate. She squirmed towards him once more.

‘Come on, let's try again,' she said.

He became lost in a sea of Chani. Enmeshed by her soft, slender limbs and silken flesh, he kissed, licked, stroked, fondled, nuzzled and probed. He became only fingers, mouth and tongue. His universe began and ended, marked by the parameters of the small, delicate frame beneath him. She responded in a similar fashion – perhaps a little more restrained, yet her enthusiasm seemed clear enough. Now and then she emitted small moans and fluttery sighs. Encouraged he struggled to remove her bra. He pulled at the straps and tugged at the underwiring but it stubbornly remained in place.

Her gown had long been cast aside as had his pyjama top. His fumblings were leading nowhere. She lay patiently before him.

‘Can you help me out here?'

She grappled behind her and in seconds the bra lay discarded on the floor. Chani was disappointed that he had not even seen her in the new bra. She had yearned to be admired and appreciated but it had not made the slightest bit of difference to Baruch. All he had wanted was to play with what it had concealed. A flicker of pleasure raced through her. Whatever he was doing it was quite delightful. She arched up to meet him and soon something hard and hot was pressing urgently against her knickers. Perhaps the Rebbetzin had been right after all.

He had to be inside her. He had no idea of how to accomplish the feat. His penis pressed and throbbed and ached against the flimsy scrap of material preventing him from achieving the union he craved. His pyjama bottoms lay cooling on the floor.

The girl lay under him, a writhing mass of skin and bones. Her hipbones were sharp and thin against his abdomen. A hand moved between his thighs as she reached down to remove her knickers. He shifted his weight off her momentarily. Then with a gasp he returned, his member poking wildly at the warm, hairy mound beneath him. He pressed and pushed but was met with a hot wall of muscle. He looked down at her. In the darkness, her eyes gleamed. Her teeth were gritted, bared in pain. She was a wild animal caught in a trap; but still he could not stop.

Chani lay braced beneath Baruch's weight. Her knees jutted out and she felt like a beetle that had been dropped on its back and could not right itself. She could barely breathe. She tried wriggling a little up the bed but before she knew it something throbbing and insistent was thrusting against her. His snout.

At first she felt nothing. But as the pressure increased so did the pain. She bore it, eyes shut, teeth clenched, opening herself for him. But still he pushed and pressed. He panted and groaned on top of her. She opened one eye and saw his huge shadowy form hanging over her, his hair a mass of wild curls. He did not look like the boy she had married. She could not see his face. He could be anyone.